Evening Star Newspaper, June 16, 1935, Page 95

head he was conceiving a poem, a t poem, his greatest poem in the Id so far, and all else was for- ten. Names; they were clapped on your head like a halo or like a t, before you were old enough to y thank you; and yet what sound you hear through life more often n any other? “Sebastian" for him d ‘‘Hebe"" for her. Sebastian, Sebas- , Sebastian . . . Just for a whim his mother or his godfather, here was doomed like the rest of man- d to hear that one ridiculous ar- gement of syllables over and over ain until his ears were numb; carry wherever he went; his nurse and n his love and then his wife (not t he would ever have one) would 00 him as ““Sebastian”; and when he ied, the very angels would call it: bastian! Sebastian!” So Hebe had thought Rouvier's con- lession would make “‘all the difference”” nd that he would be coming back? ming back? My God, with this radise dancing through his head! at was the beauty ot Hebe com- with the feverish beauty of his ‘They were chiming the name from the top of the mountains. He was no ostrich; he was tree, he was an eagle! Call the unicorn “Fido” or *“Jock,” and what difference did it make to the unicorn? The poemn was what mat- tered, these sublime lines thundering through his imagination into eternity; a torrent squeezing into a narrow chasm, bursting out free at last. Long ago he had reached the village and left it behind him. He was already a thousand feet above the town. A blue signboard pointed: “NOTRE DAME DES SOMMETS 2 heures. SOVREL 3 heures.” A small grieved-looking girl in black was chasing some chickens. He called out, asking her his way to Notre Dame, and she told him to take the path; an easy path, she reassured him, all the way through the pines. He mounted and bore to the right along a track that at first ascended gradually and brought him to the first of the pines, but then a winding sentier of rough stones mounted more ruthlessly. He was tired in the first § quarter of an hour. At last he came - out upon a wide pasture and dropped exhausted on to the grass. The pas- ture flowed like a green sea to the ‘foot of a high cliff where three hun- dred feet above, he saw Notre Dame, the chapel, a tiny toy ark. Now he was enormously discouraged. The cliff- face was sheer, and he could see no » trace of a path. r He rose after a while. The sun balanced on the top of Mont Luison. He looked at the great toothed range, bare and ferocious rock, more terrify- ing now that he saw it so near. He was drawn towards it. He knew the huge glacier that ran between these slopes and those. ““At least,” he thought, glancing to- ward the cliff-face, ‘‘there can be no way up on that side. If I bear to the left, I may find a pathway.” As the slopes increased, he found that he made slow progress. Now he saw for the first time the glacier below Mont Luison widening suddenly at the head of its ravine. With the white peak behind it, it came so suddenly, having been hidden, that he laughed. It was curious to walk above the pasture with that great reef of ice opening so near. Bearing all the time to the left, he reached the end of the pasture. A high wall of scree rose above him on the right, sloping upward over the glacier. He began to climb. At first the small slipping stones were tiresome, and as he worked his way up with handholds here and there, the glacier poured below him, an unimaginable depth. He struck a traverse, and he walked it, staring all the time at the glacier that seemed to beckon him down. He was now under the shadows of Sovrel and Mont Luison. In this cold it was strange to see the sunlight touching the upper slopes of the scree above his head, the last height of the glacier. He wondered what he would find beyond. He walked rapidly. He was not tired any more; in fact he wondered that he could ever have been tired. “They shall mount THIS WEEK With Wings as Eagles Continued from page four with wings as eagles . . . " How did it go? “They shall run and tire not . .. They shall mount up with wings as eagles . . . "’ The inspiration which had carried him so far, his poem, was not coherent any more, but it still sang through his head in cadences that made him laugh aloud for joy. When he returned again to the valley, to the hotel, he would begin to write it. No, he would not; he had had enough of that place where he had been shamefully, unworthily bonded. He would go straight back to England, to London, to his own rooms, always best for the drudgery of work, after the high dreams. The traverse ran suddenly into a couloir of stones. As he mounted, he wondered where it would bring him. The top of it, almost perpendicularly above his head, might have been the half of a weil-shaft with the sky at the top. He went up and over, now very short of breath. A wind met him. He was on the lower slope of Sovrel. He strolled easily in a plateau of stones and thin grass. The wind was bitterly cold, and the sunset touched every peak. He saw the chapel-roof, squat and lonely. . .. Three men came walking towards him. They wore heavy boots and car- ried ropes and ice axes. Sebastian, aware for the first time of his flannels, short-sleeved shirt and tennis shoes, giggled at this paraphernalia. “Good evening,” he sang out. “You must have come the way I came — above the glacier. I didn’t see you.” “Which way did you come?"” “Above the glacier. On the scree.” They were laughing. He was annoyed. “There wasn’t a pathway. I climbed the rock. Over there" — he pointed — “above the Mont Luison glacier.” “Nonsense. Nobody could do it. Without ropes. Alone.” “I did.” ““As president of the Club Alpin Dauphinois, I must contradict you.” ““And I as treasurer.”” “And ‘I as secretary. It’s a dan- gerous slope. You try it sometime with ropes and a guide and reasonable clothes.” “Dangerous? Rubbish. ['ve always thought you mountaineers made an Decoration by G. de Zayas Beauty Brevities by MARTHA LEAVITT T’S NO longer a case of putting your best foot forward. The latest in fashion and beauty decrees both feet must be firmly in the lime- light — and gaily decorative at all times. A delightful “airing” for the feet is in order these summer months. The beaches sponsor little open- work sandals with low heels and plenty of room for the toes to wiggle out glee- fully at the warm sun. For dining and dancing at some smart casino, slippers with the backs cut out and toes show- ing through a charmingly intricate open-weave design give added grace to the newest in dance rhythms. Feet are on parade. You must see that they appear worthy of this newly acquired glory. Dancers know a thing or two about tricks to enhance the feet. Hilda Eckler, premiere ballerina on the world’s largest stage — Radio City Music Hall — realizes that her feet are her fortune and takes a pride in their attractiveness and care. Each week she visits a chiropodist, as do the other members of the ballet. “Not be- cause there really is anything wrong, but in order that nothing will be the matter.” An ounce of prevention, in other words. Miss Eckler, when she dances bare- foot in a modernistic ballet, paints her toes to match her costume. A bright red dance-ensemble calls for bright red toenails. With shimmering black satin the toenails are polished a shiny jet. Rita Page, the English actress, now Hollywood bound, uses a coral pinkish shade on her toes. She wears backless slippers and therefore rouges her heels in a tone matching her toes. Tamiris, whose dance school is based on the theory that there is no external treatment for beauty, and that the approach to the dance is com- plete reality, uses only a light flesh tone to cover her feet when she ap- pears before the footlights. “Feet must be flexible with straight toes to be beautiful,” she exclaims and believes in going barefoot whenever possible. Genevieve Tobin has her toenails a Chinese red to match her fingernails. She often wears openwork shoes for evening and she likes the effect of bright nails showing through her sheer stockings. Princess Natalie Paley charmingly decorates her feet in antelope slippers in colors matching her evening gowns. ‘The shoes are cleverly cut out in the design of a little heart — just over her toes — with the V of the heart gath- ered in at the ankles. Bronze toenails will also be popular at the beaches. Bronze has a delightful way of complementing a newly ac- quired tan. Mrs. Clarkson Runyon, a smart New Yorker who summers at Upper St. Regis Lake, wears bronze to match her favorite shade in nail polish, while Mrs. Walter T. Rosen, of Man- hattan and Katonah, prefers the dark reds as contrast to summer tan. At last the time has come when that old colloquialism, “To put one's foot in it,” takes on a bright new meaning. Step up before the beauty footlights! awful fuss ahout your job. It's much easier to climb without all that silly equipment.” “People have been killed on that slope.” “Have they?” And suddenly Sebastian’s old vice leapt and seized him. These men, so pompous, so self-important, could he spoof them? Take a rise out of them? The schoolboy phrases expressed his schoolboy mood. No end of a lark to pull their legs, solemn old duffers! “People have been killed on that slope,” they had said. *““As a matter of fact, I was.” The light was fading; they were all a little dim, one to the other, “I am a dead man. I have told you the truth. A long time ago I did climb that slope. I was crazy because I loved a woman, and she made a fool of me. I climbed the slope, and I fell. That is why I am here now.” They stared at him in horror. Sebastian knew what they felt: flesh and blood towards a ghost, an abyss between them, the abyss widened . . , He turned so that they should not see that he was chuckling. The light went very quickly in that part of the world. Presently he looked back. He could see no more of the three men with their heavy boots and ropes and ice-axes. They would be more than ever convinced that they had seen a ghost which had melted and disappeared into the sable dusk. He chuckled again as he imagined them telling their wives that evening, over the beer and sausage; fat wives, good wives, who wouid tremble like jellies because their August and Johann and Herman had seen a ghost. Why, here was, in fact, a pathway on the face of the cliff which swung straight down to the pasture. Dark gathered closer, and a herd of cows and goats were being driven home. Their musical tinkle reminded him of the tale he had made up (it seemed a hundred years ago) about the farmer who had pulled the legs of the ticket owners in a raffie. How damnably successful he was at making up things, reflected Sebastian, impenitent. If he had not heard the chime of cowbells at sunset from the veranda ot the hotel, he would not have made up that story; if he had not made up that story, poor little Rouvier would never have picked up the notion of stealing his cigarette case; if the cigarette case had not been stolen, Hebe would never have spoken the words that had shown him 9nce and for all that she was not his woman and not his iove; and he would never have dashed up the mountain side. What remained of it all but a poem and a long walk home in the dark? The descent took him a couple of hours, but the way was familiar now. Nobody saw him re-enter the Hotel de la Vache d’Or et de L'Univers. He went straight to his room, threw his things into his suitcase, settled his bill with the surprised manager, drove down to the little village station and caught a train to Paris. But he could not sleep. Reaction attacked him, showing how much too tired he was. And in his hurry he had not provided himself with any handy literature. On the seat of the carriage beside him was a copy of the “Continental Daily Mail,” already a couple of days old. Sebastian picked it up mechanically. And then he read a paragraph with the caption, “Moun- taineering Disaster” : “A tragic sequel to the attempt of the president of the Club Alpin Dauphinois to climb the Mont Luison range is reported this morn- ing. The bodies of the president and his two companions were recovered at the foot of the Sovrel glacier early today. The search party had been out since the climbers were first reported missing. It is thought that the rope must have broken on the Tenaille, killing all three instan- taneously. Falls of stone below the glacier have made search work dif- ficult, and we understand that the bodies must have lain there at least four days.” Sebastian repeated stupidly: “We understand that the bodies must have lain there at least four davs.” Murine cleanses and re- freshes tired, irritated eyes. for every RETAILER in this x5 area 1. THIS WEEK gives re- tailers a new and more powerful sales force for national brands — maga- zine advertising with real local sales power. 2. THIS WEEK'S circu- lation (over 4,000,000) is not scattered. It is con- centrated in America’s richest markets —reaching"’ the most people nearest the most stores in 21 major markets. In these trading areas, THIS WEEK reaches, on the average, 3 to 5 times as many families as leading national magazines ...which means 3 to 5 times as many potential customers for retail stores. 3. 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